


Chance Encounter

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty





	Chance Encounter

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**Chance Encounter**   
_   


PG  
IDW…ish  
Perceptor, Deadlock  
no warnings  
Takes place post Megatron Origin, but before the whole place got factionalized. In this Perceptor’s a scientist, unaligned.So it’s not QUITE an AU, but is in a very empty space in canon…right now.  
For [](http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com/profile)[**tf_rare_pairing**](http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com/)   weekly request “Perceptor/Deadlock finding the rose among the thorns”

 

Perceptor stepped onto the hoverbus, head still bent over his datapad.He’d left the lab because it was time to leave—he needed to refuel, do self-maintenance.And there was a time, he’d learned, where he needed to step away, let the files dump, clear his cache.Right now, he was just logging the last of the data, organizing it. Simple, mindless task.

The hoverbus lurched, taking off, and he found himself flung precipitously onto the bench seat, his hip half on top of another mech.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly, bouncing himself off, wedging himself awkwardly into the barely-wide-enough space.The mech he’d sat on gave a grunt, the hip shifting over grudgingly.

Perceptor offered an apologetic smile. The mech would have been…stunning to look at, really, broad deep shoulders, frame that sort of austere beauty, monotone dark with touches of electrum. Even the face was beautiful: mobile, expressive, the red optics alert and alive.But the mouth was twisted into an almost perpetual-looking scowl.

The mech gave an indifferent shrug, arms folding over the broad chassis.And that’s when Perceptor noticed the purple insignia high on the chassis. Oh. And then—no that wasn’t the mech’s hip he’d been trying to clear. It was a gun.

He tried to edge farther away.A Decepticon.

The mech glared at him, challenging. “What?” Beneath them, the engines hummed, the hoverbus beginning its ascent.

“I…er…nothing.”Perceptor hunched down, hands clutching at his datapad. Normalcy, there, in his pad, in science. No one randomly got shot in science. He wormed his hips away, knees tight together, tilting away.The Decepticons had killed Sentinel Prime, thrown the planet into chaos. And one, right here, in Iacon. Right next to him. Bold, arrogant, almost daring someone to call Security.

Could he? Should he call Security? Perceptor looked around. No one else even seemed to notice. No, that wasn’t quite right—everyone else seemed to deliberately skip over the Decepticon, willfully pretending that this dangerous thing wasn’t right there among them.

“Not gonna get a disease from me,” the Decepticon snapped.

Perceptor twitched.“I…sorry?”He stopped squirming on the bench, relaxing the hip actuators, flinching as his skirting panel bumped against the gun.“I was just trying to give you room.”

“I’m fine.”The mech’s voice was rough, as though he didn’t do much talking, only yelling.But he wasn’t yelling here, just…seemed angry.He glowered over at Perceptor, jerking his chin at the datapad. “What’s that?”

“This?” A datapad?No, everyone knew what a datapad was.They may be violent, Perceptor, but they’re not brutes.

He hoped.

“I-It’s, I’m…I’m doing some research on isotopic polymers, particularly related to cybermyelinization in neural pathways.”He blinked, nervously, at the hard mask that glued itself on the Decepticon’s face.“It’s to study degenerative diseases and how to stop them.”

A flash of something behind the red optical lenses. “Cure disease, right.” He snorted. “For those who can afford it.”

“But…everyone should afford it. It’s a cure. It could save countless lives, and end suffering.”

The red optics studied him for a long moment, harsh, almost physically clawing over his face. “Don’t know much about how the world works, do you?”

Perceptor drew himself up, fingers squeezing the datapad. “If what you’re saying is that mechs would not be able to get a life-saving treatment for lack of credits, then no. And I don’t want to know how that world works.”

A snort. “Some life you lead, then.”

The sound was dismissive. It…hurt.Perceptor sat back, stunned.And then it hit him. His cortex started cataloging the mech’s advantages: he was clearly not stupid, though his diction was rough.He was well-framed, beautiful even, and his movements had a certain fascinating grace. And he was well-maintained: joints oiled quiet, dermal plating—no, armor really—free of rust. But…was he…? “Are you…envious?”

“No,” the Decepticon scoffed, quickly. Too quickly, Perceptor thought, as though he had had exactly the same thought.

“What kind of life do you lead?”His tone was gentle, one hand reaching out, almost touching the dark thigh in compassion. He knew now what was under those red optics: some sort of lambent pain.

The optics flashed down to his hand, then back up. “Why you want to know?”

Perceptor thought for a moment, taken aback.No one had ever asked before, no one had ever questioned his right to ask.“Because,” he said, eventually, “I am a scientist and we want to know things.And because you seem to judge my life; I thought it only fair to ask about yours. And…well…I want to know what makes a mech view every gesture, every word, as hostility.”

The optical shutters flicked in surprise, the mouth—for a klik—losing the hard cut, softening in something like surprise.“Do not.” The supraorbital ridges furrowed under the heavy helm as he realized what he’d just done.

Perceptor merely tilted his head, saying nothing, but he felt the fear that had been a cold knot in his tanks loosen, warm.This Decepticon was not so awful.

The mouth twisted again, but this time melting into a sad, shy kind of smile. “Bad,” he said, quietly. “It was bad.”

“And this?” Perceptor motioned toward the Decepticon insignia.

The mouth twitched, optics circling the hoverbus, the other gazes that darted away from him like startled fish. “Better. Believe me.”

“To be feared? Hated?” Really? It was…inconceivable to Perceptor. Who would want that?

The red gaze caught his, held it steadily. “Yes,” the Decepticon said. “At least I’m not ignored.”He broke the gaze abruptly, aware he’d revealed something too intimate.

“Oh.” The idea was also ludicrous—the mech radiated something—force, presence, violence—that made him impossible not to notice. Even the other inhabitants of the hoverbus were reacting against it, feeling the push of it against them.And it seemed…really sad that anyone would want to be feared and hated and see it as an improvement.“What’s your name?” he asked, quietly, almost bracing for the resistance.

The red optics blinked, head tilted, studying him.“Deadlock.” The corners of his mouth tugged down, as if he didn’t like how it sounded—grim and dark and ugly. “Earned it from Megatron himself.” An attempt to buck himself up, Perceptor thought.

The hoverbus whined, engines throttling down at the next levelstation.“I’m Perceptor,” he said.He stood up, tugging a personal chit from his storage, holding it out. “My stop,” he said, apologetically. “But if you…ever need anything, or want to talk…?”

The hard light covered the optics again. “Don’t need anything.” And the voice was cold, but Perceptor saw, as he moved to the hoverbus’s exit, the hand clutch around the chit, the optics following him, light and strange.

 


End file.
